Diminutive Detectives and Other Oddities
by Sherlocked-with-Loki
Summary: Sherlock, scientist he is, decides to experiment on confiscated chemicals from a criminal laboratory. Things go wrong, and suddenly Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome is hardly the size of a teacup, just in time for a visit from our favourite consulting detective. Chaos ensues. Rated M for mentions of drug use, past and present dub/non con, and language. Collab with SherlockedReaperess.
1. Chapter 1

**Hallo! This is a Pocket!lock RP that me and the lovely SherlockianReaperess have been working on for a while, and is still a work in progress. Updates should be fairly quick, so if you like, follow or favourite, as I'll probably be updating it several times a week. It gets a bit dark, I must warn you, but is in essence a mix of crack, angst, humour, and fluff. Chapters involving darker themes will be labeled at the beginning as a warning, so if you'd like to skip to the end of those chapters, there will be a summary posted. Rated M to be safe, as we don't quite know where it will go. **

**Anyways, enjoy! :)**

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Sherlock was immensely glad that John had left for what he had at first deemed a 'pointless and dull' medical convention taking place outside of London. The doctor would be gone for a few weeks, and while at first Sherlock had been rather annoyed that he wouldn't have his flatmate as an assistant on his cases he was now glad he wouldn't be around to chastise the detective for the latest mess he was finding himself in.

He'd been experimenting with unidentifiable chemicals he'd found on a previous case he and John had been working on prior to the latter's departure. They'd infiltrated a facility for his brother to investigate the threat of a rat possibly having wormed his way in, and in retaliation of having been forced to take the case Sherlock had swiped several of the chemicals from the facility to test and study later. For once he'd actually been cautious as he'd experimented as he'd honestly not had a clue what the compounds were as they were entirely experimental, but a mixture of the chemicals had ended up spilling onto himself despite his efforts. The combination of fumes and splashes of the various liquids had the detective passing out soon after. The real problem, however, was the state he found himself in when he woke...and found everything quite a bit larger than himself.

In theory, it should have been impossible, but Sherlock knew that standing around and claiming that the chemical mishap couldn't have reduced his size to doll-like proportions was pointless when the evidence was clear. After doing a quick patchwork job to clothe himself and with some physical effort of getting up to where he'd placed his phone on the arm of his chair. He was planning to text /someone/ for assistance as he couldn't very well remain alone in such a vulnerable state when he might as well be some toy for anyone who walked in to play with. So when he heard the steps coming up the stairs, ones that he'd heard on a very limited number of occasions before, the detective's eyes widened as he quickly scrambled for a place to hide.

Jim's contact had informed him of Sherlock's confiscation of the chemicals. And he knew exactly what would happen when Sherlock experimented. So as he walked up the steps to 221B, he was wearing a wide grin. He knows what he'll find, and playing with the man in this state will be simply wonderful. He pushes open the door, eyes immediately taking in the flat's state of disarray. Sure enough, the chemicals are out and no one is in sight. "Sher-lyyyy. Come out and pla-ay," he singsongs, stepping further into the flat and looking around for the no-doubt minuscule detective.

Sherlock didn't like fear. It was an awful emotion that dulled the mind and meant a loss of control. Which really was a bit of a vicious cycle because the detective feared losing control. He swallowed, heart racing in his chest as he watched on from under the sofa. It was the only place he'd been able to scamper off to before Jim had sauntered into the flat. Judging by the other's obvious glee, Sherlock had a fairly good idea that the man already knew the state that he was currently in and fully intended to take advantage.

Jim walks over to the table, smirking at the sight. Small little footprints in the chemicals, going down the table legs and over to the couch. Bingo. He walks over leisurely, flipping the couch carelessly so as not to give Sherlock an out. His eyes immediately find the detective, who's merely centimetres tall. He grins, crouching and grabbing Sherlock by the collar, picking him up. "Hello, darling."

There's absolutely nowhere to run, and utterly no way to actually escape given his doll-like proportions. A small sound escaped him when he was easily picked up and he could do nothing about it but stare at Jim with wide eyes. For once utterly silent as his tongue felt like lead. The whole situation was enough of a shock without the criminal of all people there to make it all the worse.

He sets the man down on his other palm, examining him with obvious amusement. A fingernail scratches Sherlock's scalp, and he grins. "Oh, aren't you just _adorable_?" he purrs mockingly. "So tiny. It's cute."

It took a brief moment to get his balance before Sherlock was ducking away from the finger -or attempting to- with an indignant hiss. "This is above you, isn't it Jim?" Sherlock finally said, voice deceptively calm though a light tremor had subtly snuck its way into his tone. "This will hardly be much of a game if one of the players isn't fit to _actually_ play." He was trying to buy himself time to figure out just what he could do to help himself out of his current situation.

The criminal doesn't miss the slight trembling in his voice and the ill-concealed panic in Sherlock's eyes. He chuckles, bringing the man up closer to his face. His clothing is made out of scraps, and he looks far less intimidating without his usual dress shirt and Belstaff. "Oh, well. You made this move, it's my turn now. How much /fun/ we're going to have."

Sherlock made sure to maintain his balance given his position. "I really doubt that we are going to have the same level of enjoyment." he said, watching Jim with his still wide eyes as there was little else to do. He was silently calculating the odds of survival were he to jump from Jim's hand at this height, then of course how long it would take before the now larger man caught up with him... The numbers weren't in the detective's favour.

Jim arches a brow in acknowledgement. "True. But I'll have fun," he replies, dropping Sherlock neatly into his breast pocket with a tilt of the hand. "Do try to hold still, dear," he hums, righting the couch before heading down the stairs and out the front door.

Its a miracle that Sherlock held in a yelp when he tumbled into the other's pocket. He blinked and settled himself enough to not hurt himself before stilling. The only reason being that he didn't need anymore people seeing him. Silently, he wondered how long it would take before someone noticed something was wrong. Before Mrs. Hudson came into the flat and called his brother about the chemicals and the detective's absence. How many seconds it would take Mycroft to figure out what had happened and who had taken him.

Hopefully, soon.

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**As usual, reviews are greatly appreciated. Even if it's a short comment about kittens. **


	2. Chapter 2

He slides into the waiting Bentley, which pulls out into the street as soon as the door is closed. Jim reaches into his pocket, plucking Sherlock out again and setting him on the dashboard for a moment as he buckles in. He's absolutely beaming, turning to the driver and gesturing to Sherlock. "Isn't he just adorable, Sebby? We could dress him in a little grass skirt," he says, chuckling as he thinks about the image. Adorable.

Sherlock would have been fine without the brilliant flush to his face, thanks very much. This was already deeming enough. To be reduced to this size, to be easily plucked up and taken by the one man in the world who he'd hope to not walk in the door _then_ of all moments. When the vehicle starts moving Sherlock has to sit lest he want to be tossed off his feet regardless since he was too small to properly fight the sway from the turns.

He smiles as a blush paints Sherlock's little cheeks, and he reaches into the backseat, withdrawing a small little pack of doll clothes. He sets them next to Sherlock on the dash, eyes alit with amusement. "Put on some real clothes, would you, darling? You're wearing scraps." Moran's lips quirk faintly.

Again, Sherlock wished the heat would stop rising to his face. He looks at the clothes incredulously- not because they're awful, mind, as they could be worse and don't actually look beyond normal save for size.

Oh, he's almost crimson at this point. His grin widens. "Come on, dear, or can't you dress yourself? I'd be _more_ than happy to help you," he says with a cheeky grin. Sebastian just rolls his eyes.

That had Sherlock changing despite the fact he's less than thrilled. This is already mortifying enough, he does not need to make it any worse. He worked quickly, and soon he was in the clothes. They looked similar to what he'd wear when normal size but without the Belstaff. His tongue was lead again. Probably a side effect of the mortification.

He watches as Sherlock strips quickly, the detective's cheeks getting impossibly redder, and watches shamelessly as he dresses in the doll clothes, a small smirk playing across his lips. He picks up the man's previous coverings with an expression of faint distaste and tosses them out the window, turning back to Sherlock. "There we go. Much better, isn't it? We have a little house for you too, dear, don't worry. It's very nice."

Sherlock swallowed. Wonderful. The man was going to have him play the doll that his size now resembled. Never in his life had Sherlock ever actually hoped quite so thoroughly that Mycroft would meddle in his affairs as that would mean he'd know what had happened to his little brother. Hopefully the effect wasn't permanent, or at least would be able to wear off on its own. He didn't want to remain in Jim's hands like this for very long.

Sherlock doesn't look all too pleased by this development. No matter. It'll be fun, and when the criminal gets bored and gives him the antiserum, he'll still be stuck with Jim, with an all new realm of fun things to be had. Mostly to irritate Sherlock, he muses aloud. "We could take him to Baskerville- get him little wings. He could be a cute little fairy."

The detective balked at that. Images came to him far too was easily. The problem was that he had no clue if Jim was being serious or not because really, if the man was in enough of a mood he was capable of anything.

Jim chuckles at the scandalized expression Sherlock is wearing. "Ooh, and we could put his hair in a bun and give him a dress and make him a cute little Tinker Bell." The sniper huffs out an amused snort at the image.

"Christ," Sherlock murmured under his breath, inaudible. This was going to be the death of him. Either from embarrassment or, more likely, actual physical means. Even more likely, both.

The detective's usually pale tone is by now scarlet, and Jim can't help but make a jab at that too. "Oh, look, he's already practicing the rosy cheeks, Sebby!"

Sherlock was going to throttle the man when he was finally back to his normal size. His normally sharp tongue was silent because he knew that he didn't have any means of defending himself.

Jim gasps, looking embarrassed. "Oh, dear, where are my manners? I haven't introduced you yet. Sherly, this is Sebastian Moran. Sebby, this is our dear Virgin." Moran simply sighs.

Sebastian Moran. Military history. High rank. Colonel. Sniper. Sherlock read it all despite the fact he was growing impossibly more embarrassed at the name …it wasn't technically true. His brother had forced him into rehab after he'd started to realize it was easy to get his drugs by opening his mouth or legs. Those memoires were fuzzy as he almost always had been high during the acts. He hadn't been able to stay like that long due to his brother, but nevertheless …it didn't mean he enjoyed or wanted it.

He doesn't miss the fleeting look on Sherlock's face and his eyes widen, a grin breaking across his face. "Oh? Was my intel wrong?" He laughs delightedly. "Ohhh, that's just precious. Can't wait to sample."

Sherlock's jaw tightened. Of course the man wouldn't know. Mycroft kept that information sealed and locked away. Destroyed evidence. The frequent jabs at Sherlock like 'sex doesn't alarm me' 'how would you know' was aimed at that point of his life since he'd been too high to care what he needed to do for his next fix.

He scratches at Sherlock's head, smirking. "Mmm. I'll have to look into that." Sebastian catches the subtle little innuendo and arches a brow in Jim's direction before turning his attention back to the road. He's used to this- that doesn't mean he's overly fond of that aspect. He's fine with sniping, with interrogation, but pointless violations don't much concern him.

The detective ducked down to try and avoid the scratching. Of course, it was a futile effort. He caught Sebastian's small glance to Jim before the man was focusing on the road. He pursed his lips as he looked up at Jim. He'd never thought that, of all things, _height_ would ever intimidate him.

Jim frowns slightly, fingers drumming on the dash on one side of Sherlock. "Why won't you talk? Not used to being tiny yet, or is your voice too high-pitched for your liking?"

"Its not high-pitched," Sherlock said in defense. Part of him didn't want too give the other the satisfaction of being entertained, and part of him didn't want to risk setting Jim off when the man could toss him out the window if he so liked.

He chuckles. "Maybe not to you. I should record for when I put you back to normal," he muses. "It's cute." He leans back, reaching into his pocket for his phone and turning on the voice recorder, setting it next to the man. "Go on."

Sherlock eyed the recorder with distaste. "This is utterly ridiculous," he murmured, looking back up at Jim, The only real thing that he was now focused on was what Jim had said about getting the detective back to a normal size...because really _that_ was the important bit.

"Mm, you could say something to your dear brother. I'll send it to him. Sure he'll get a kick out of it, hm?" He notes the sudden attention but elects to disregard it- of course he has the cure, the question is whether and when he'll give it to the man. He rather likes him like this.

If he was lucky, his brother might have Jim shot. Sherlock knew that they hadn't even gotten to the worst of it, too.. "It would only serve as something else for my brother to hold over my head."

"Mm, true, but your hypothetical chance of escape would increase. Ah, well, no matter," he says, picking up the phone and tucking it away. "I'd much rather have fun without his interruption."

If Mycroft was seriously unable to find him, his own brother or all people, then at least the man would have something held over his own head as a failure to keep him safe. Sherlock already estimated that Mrs. Hudson would come in later in the evening, and then would call Mycroft then John.

Jim suddenly lights up, a somewhat cunning look taking over his face. He plucks Sherlock from the dash board, holding him in his hand. "Mm, have you ever wondered what it would feel like to be outside the car while it's driving?"


End file.
